Descent Into Damnation
by TrueVulcanRaven
Summary: Details the origins of an unfortunate human and his first contact with the forces of Darkness. The repercussions will forever haunt him and serve as a warning to those who would attempt to harness the power of the Dark for their own purposes.
1. The Curse

Descent Into Damnation

Legal Material: All DarkStalkers and Biohazard references are copyright Capcom, Inc.

Rated: Teen for violence and rough language.

Chapter 1: The Curse

**January 19, 1997**

**4:34 p.m. EST**

**Office of Special Agent Forrest Wilson**

**Langley, VA**

(A thick, vanilla-colored folder lies in the center of the G-man's cluttered desk. The dossier's cover is emblazoned with the seal of the CIA. The words "YOUR EYES ONLY" are stamped in bright red.)

Pg. 1

**WARNING**: This document is property of the United States' Central Intelligence Agency. Unauthorized duplication is strictly prohibited. Offenders will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

Pg. 2

**CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY**

**DIVISION 6: PARA-PSYCH OPERATIONS**

**FILE #: 10285023F**

**CASE OPENED: NOVEMBER 1, 1996**

**CASE CLOSED:**

**CLASSIFIED CLEARANCE LEVEL: BLACK**

Subject: Redmond, Troy Gregory "Leon"

D.O.B.: 12 - 29 - 1967

Height: 5' 11''

Weight: 150 lbs.

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Green

Race: White/Caucasian

Residence: 2010 Pine Street New Orleans, LA 70118

SS #: 722-84-6351

Home #: 504-752-9811

Credentials: Undergraduate – Tulane University (Religious Studies), Graduate – University of Notre Dame (Theology; unfinished)

Current Status: Missing. Subject is assumed to be armed, dangerous, and mentally unbalanced.

(A Xerox of the man's driver's license is attached with a paper clip. He's a clean-shaven, young-looking fellow with short-cropped hair. His smile is half-hearted and disinterested.)

Pg. 3

**EVIDENCE**

(The subsequent information was transcribed from a journal recovered from the remains of the missing person's domicile.)

February 26, 1996 – Rachelle [Smith, currently under surveillance in case the subject attempts to make contact. left me. Said I was obsessed. Whatever. I'm on to something.

April 29, 1996 – "If one allows for the existence of a God, he must also take into account the possibility of a Devil." Fair enough, 'cause I think I just met the latter. Some guy named Albert. Said he worked for a defense contractor and he was looking for people like me. Pay's pretty good and the work is right up my alley. Hell, if everything turns out all right, they just might let me finish my doctorate with the "research" I'll be doing.

April 30, 1996 – (There is nothing written. The author simply glued newspaper and tabloid articles with highlighted segments into the notebook. Digital copies of the clippings are located on a CD-ROM labeled "10285023F," which is stored in a plastic protective slip stapled to the back cover of the dossier. Upon inserting the media into a functioning computer and browsing for a file named "Redmond 4-30-95," a PDF document appears onscreen. The sections of interest to the author read as follows.)

REPEATED UFO INCIDENTS HAVE U.K. ASTRONOMERS BAFFLED

(London) - …As of yet, scientists have no explanation for what witnesses describe as "a blue shooting star" racing across the night sky. Based on amateur video footage, the unidentified object usually travels at least a mile high in the air and is capable of reaching velocities close to one and a half times the speed of sound. It is interesting to note that every report occurred on the evenings of a full moon…

11 CONFIRMED BRAIN-DEAD ON FIRST NIGHT OF ROCKER'S WORLD TOUR

(Sydney) - …Bystanders report that the victims simply collapsed during the solo of Lord Raptor's metal hit "After Life." Emergency responders were on hand to quickly transport them to Sydney Hospital. Though physically unharmed, the patients exhibited no activity in the areas of the brain responsible for higher thought. Physicians predict little to no chance of a recovery…

GIANT TERRORIZES RURAL AUSTRIAN TOWN

(Zwettl) - "…He was huge! Massive brute, built like a freight train," Heinrich Weirden, a farmer, alleged with the help of a translator. "He tried to grab my daughter Elisa, so my son Johan and I ran over to stop him. The monster brushed us aside like we were nothing! His skin was a sickly blue color, and he had bolts coming out of his head, and he could channel electricity through his hands!" (There is a black and white picture of a middle-aged man in dark pants and a long-sleeved button-down shirt that is pulled open. He is showing the camera operator the burns on his neck and chest from the electric current that the attacker sent through his body.) "I never would have imagined such a creature could exist!"

DISCOVERY CHANNEL CREW FOUND DEAD INSIDE TOMB OF PHAROAH

(Giza) - …The corpses of renowned archaeologist Dr. Samuel Roderick and his seven associates were strewn haphazardly around the recently-excavated burial chamber of ancient Egyptian ruler Anakaris. Autopsies revealed that the victims died as a result of having their blood completely drained from their bodies. During the chaos, the video camera used by the crew was damaged, allowing only audio input to be received by the device. Access to the contents of the recording is currently restricted to investigators and the families of the deceased…

ROMANIAN OFFICIAL DELIVERS ULTIMATUM TO NATIONAL GOVERNMENT

(Bucharest) - …Demitri Maximov, Lieutenant General of the Romanian Land Forces, issued the following statement to the country's body politic. "Mr. President, Mr. Prime Minister: you have 24 hours to step down from your positions, dissolve the Parliament, and hand over control of the nation to me. There will be no negotiations. The only choices for you are submission or utter annihilation. That is all." The United Nations condemned his threats as "barbaric" but has not yet committed to sending troops to Romania…

May 20, 1996 – The others on the BiohazardRecruits channel on IRC are calling it the DarkStalker phenomenon, whatever _that_ means. Some are hailing it as a sign of the end of days. Some jokingly suggested converting to Satanism "while there's still time." Let them fret. If my predictions are right, the coming years will certainly prove to be some of the most interesting mankind has ever witnessed.

June 9, 1996 – Right now I'm in Central America following a lead I received from my "benefactor." By the end of the week I hope to have completed my search of Tikal, Palenque, and Cancuen. I just hope I don't run out of money bribing the local officials to turn a blind eye to my investigation.

July 2, 1996 – I found it! I fucking found it! A Makai ruby! I haven't told anyone, not even Albert, who's become a real prick as of late. Screw him; he'll get his finished product when I damn well feel like giving it to him.

July 18, 1996 – I've almost completely unraveled the mystery behind this little gem. I just received a fax from my cryptographer buddy at Stanford, and I'm waiting for a reply from a linguistics expert in Belize. I had to call Mezeratti, a loan shark that I met through some of my shadier acquaintances, to get him to Western Union me some extra green, and he said he'd send gorillas with baseball bats after me if I was late with any payments. I would've laughed, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't kidding…

August 6, 1996 – Sneaking that rock and my charcoal rubbings of the temple hieroglyphs across customs was a bitch and a half. Barely had enough money left for a Greyhound ticket home.

Pg. 4

August 8, 1996 – Sick as a dog. Puking 'til I feel like my intestines are gonna fly out of my mouth. When someone says don't drink the water down there, you open up your God damn ears and listen. Ritual can wait until tomorrow.

August 9, 1996 – It worked! I flubbed the incantations a few times, but I finally got the portal to form. I spent about 8 hours in the Demon Realm before I started coughing up pieces of my lungs like a TB patient on his deathbed. I still can't believe that when the Mayans were conducting human sacrifices, they were actually opening up a gateway to _Hell_!

August 28, 1996 – Back up to full strength today. Bought a Remington 12-gauge and 50 shells at a gun show to deal with the inevitable local wildlife. Snagged an IMI Deagle .44, a big-ass knife, and some high-powered binoculars as an afterthought. That was easy. Getting my hands on a Haz-Mat suit, now _that_ was a pain in the rear.

August 29, 1996 – Got to explore the landscape a bit more in detail. Just as bleak as most people would expect. The sky changes from deep purple to navy to black to red constantly, and when it rains it's as if Zeus is emptying his entire arsenal every ten seconds. The earth looks blackened and crunches loudly with every step I take. There's almost no plant life to speak of, just a few withered weeds every now and then. Saw two or three rotting trees, but that's the extent of it, really. Oddly enough, my compass still functions when I'm there. Oh, damn, almost forgot. Need to get some extra batteries for my camcorder.

(A search for said camcorder at the author's premises yielded nothing.)

August 30, 1996 – To say that I had a close encounter would put me in the running for mother of all understatements. I was heading east towards a mountain range when I ran into what I can only describe as an imp. Dark red skin, horns near its temples, bipedal, deformed wings but still somehow able to fly, mouth full of gnashing, serrated teeth. _Really _nasty little bugger, kept healing its wounds. Almost tore a hole in my suit before I managed to put it down with a point blank blast from the shotty to its face. Removing the head seems to be the only sure way of killing demons. Cut off a tissue sample to send to Albert later 'cause I didn't feel like dragging the bastard's stinking carcass a mile back to the portal.

October 1, 1996 – Don't know how I didn't notice this earlier. I don't get hungry when I'm over there, and I don't get tired either. Honestly, I feel like I could punch out Mark Kerr if UFC ever decided to put on a tourney in the Bad Place.

October 5, 1996 – Figured out I only need a gas mask to stay healthy on the other side, so I ditched the Haz-Mat suit. Whatever was turning my lungs to tomato soup must be airborne. Now I just gotta buy a some more filters.

(The next three entries are undated.)

– I don't know how long I've been in this cell. They humored me and allowed me to keep my journal, but I can barely lift my hand to write, and my coughing fits are getting worse. Ran out of air filters a day or so ago; don't know how much longer I have to live. I was on an expedition, looking for intelligent life forms. I found them, or rather they found me. Two humanoid zoanthropic creatures, one resembling a fox, the other a gargoyle. Both were around seven feet in height and clothed in manner that reminded me of peasants from the Middle Ages. I raised my hands to signify that I wasn't going to attack when they lunged at me, pinning me to the ground and relieving me of my backpack with what must have been minimal effort on their parts. The fox began screaming at me in a tongue that was harsh and guttural, unlike any I had ever heard. I could only open and close my mouth like a fish with its gills glued shut for a few seconds before I came up with something to say. One of them pulled out a tiny centipede-like creature from a pouch attached to the belt wrapped around his waist. He roughly grabbed my hair and thrust the thing into my left ear.

"You are trespassing on the hunting grounds of His Emminence Lord Baraba Kreutz, descendent of the Mighty Xell!" the gargoyle snarled, his hot breath blasting across my face like a raging sandstorm. "You will accompany us at once!"

I was too shocked to reply or resist, not that doing either would have made much of a difference. We walked for hours until we reached a monolithic stone castle. The sides of the fortress jutted into the air at least twenty-five meters, and beyond it dozens of spires and towers stretched to the hideous mess that passed for the Demon World's sky. Once we passed through a massive wooden gate that served as the main entrance, I was led deep into the stronghold. The inhabitants of the citadel stared at me in a mixture of mild curiosity and revulsion as they went about their business. All of them possessed demonic or animal-like features and were garbed in a fashion similar to that of my captors. After descending several flights of stairs, we reached a dark tunnel where two muscle-bound sentries were posted. Both wore some sort of thick protective covering and were armed with staffs that gave off a faint yellow glow at one end. They could have passed for human were it not for their bright orange skin and bull-like horns protruding symmetrically from their skulls.

"An outsider," the fox-demon growled. "Found him wandering on the outskirts of N'arleth Fields. Bringing him in for questioning."

"Aye," the one on the left replied. He balled up his fist and rapped soundly against the metal double-doors behind him, apparently signaling for his comrades behind them to let us in. Once inside they tossed me into the nearest holding cell without another word. I think it's been several days since I ended up in here. I just don't know any more.

Pg.5

– My body…it feels like I was burned alive and somehow survived. The ways they tortured me, I can't even begin to understand, much less put down into mere words. At first I told them the truth: that I was a scientist conducting research. Then I just said whatever they wanted to hear. Something about being a spy for House Dohma. Anything to make them stop.

– An emissary of Lord Kreutz visited me today. Said that his Master had taken an interest in me.

"A human who can last this long in Majingen's atmosphere even with the assistance of technology is rare," he hissed in a raspy voice that helped to emphasize his reptilian features. "He will grant you an audience tomorrow morning."

I can't wait.

October 31, 1996 – Two armed guards marched me through the dungeon and into a dimly lit reception hall. It appeared very Spartan to me. But it more than made up for sparseness in sheer size. The room was around 100 meters in length. At the end was a colossal throne, occupied by an equally formidable figure. I couldn't make out his features when I first entered, but as I drew nearer the details became clearer. A dreadfully huge beast, at least eight feet tall. His face resembled that of a wolf. His eyes were two golden embers that seemed to penetrate into my brain, attempting to pick apart my very essence. His lips were drawn back slightly, and I could make out two rows of menacing, pearl-white teeth. On some parts of his body his fur was purest white, while elsewhere it was a fitting royal blue. His clothing was almost comical, though taking into account his nobility helped to put things in perspective. The lingo for the ridiculous trappings that people used to don eludes me at the moment, but suffice to say that he would have fit in perfectly at a dress rehearsal for _1776_. When I was within about fifteen feet of the monster, one of the guards escorting me shoved me down to my knees.

"No need for that, soldier," Kreutz spoke in a gravelly bass. "Leave us for now."

"As you wish, sir."

When they had exited, the Demon Lord rose from his seated position and snapped the fingers on his left hand. The manacles around my wrists then crumbled to dust.

"Rise, human."

While I shakily did so, he made a fist with one of his enormous hands and suddenly unclenched it. My backpack instantly appeared in his palm. He reached inside, pulling out the Desert Eagle. That handcannon looked like a toy in his giant mitts. He flicked off the safety and ejected the magazine, examining the weapon. He slid the clip back into the grip and held it out at arms length, staring down the sights. He snorted, tossing the gun casually over his shoulder.

"I can't believe you creatures still wage battles with such devices," he spoke disapprovingly.

The next item he produced was the machete. He smiled as he lightly flipped it in the air, switching between holding it at the hilt and gripping the edge between his thumb and index finger. Abruptly he dropped into a fighting stance and began performing a kata.

"A true warrior needs only his body as a weapon," the noble chastised as he sliced, parried, and lunged with grace and fluidity that contrasted markedly with his size. Unexpectedly he spun 180 degrees and with a lightning-quick thrust brought the blade within a millimeter of my right eye. "Remember that, human."

The knife disappeared from my sight in a puff of black smoke. He then drew out the jewel that had made my journey possible.

"Where did you find this?" he questioned as he held the ruby up to his one of his radiant eyes.

I mumbled an incoherent jumble of syllables. Faster than I could react he whirled on me and seized me by the waist in his gargantuan hands, giving me a painful squeeze.

"Speak up, lad!" He roared.

I coughed and spluttered under his immense strength, spraying a stream of blood down the front of my soiled jacket while prying uselessly at his interlocked fingers.

"Central America…Mayan…ruins!" I managed to choke out.

"Ah," he replied, simultaneously falling back into his previous state of composure and dropping me to the floor. "The Huitzil storage area. Well, that clears things up a bit." With that, he crushed the gem into powder in his bare hand. "I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you're thinking. You claimed to come here in search of knowledge, and I believe you. Man's inquisitive nature is intrinsic and undeniable."

I could only nod dumbly, gawking in fascination and trepidation.

"Therefore, I will grant you the opportunity to study the mysteries of the Dark to your heart's content. But only under the condition that you never attempt to return to this Realm again. Do you agree to those terms?"

I licked my lips. My throat and brain felt as if they had been deep fried. I could hardly make sense of what he was saying over the relentless pounding of my own heart. "Yes," I croaked.

"Excellent!" Lord Kreutz exclaimed. "I must warn you, I don't take kindly to deceit. Should you ever break your end of the bargain, you'll wish I had executed you. Now, be baptized in Darkness!"

I cried out in surprise and horror at that unexpected turn of events. He stretched out one of his huge fur-covered hands and I was immediately consumed by pain that defies description. I mercifully passed out after a few seconds. I woke up on the floor in the den. The clock on the VCR claimed that it's almost midnight. I assume Kreutz transported me back after I blacked out.

I just checked through the kitchen window; the moon is entirely visible tonight. Oh, God, what's happening to me?! I

(The entry is illegible past this point.)

Pg. 6

(The following is a transcript of the telephone conversation between emergency dispatcher Sheryl Moore and Phillip Granley, the subject's neighbor, on the night of October 31, 1996 at 11:53 p.m. CST. An audio file version labeled "Redmond 10-31-96.wma" is located on the CD-ROM "10285023F.")

Moore: 911, what's your emergency?

Granley: Yeah, there's some serious shit goin' on next door; sounds like someone's getting their ass kicked. Lotta yellin'. You gotta send some cops over, pronto.

Moore: Sir, what's your name and address?

Granley: Phil Granley, 2008 Pine Street. Whoa, what the-? Friggin' couch just smashed through the front door. (Said aside.) LAURA! Get the kids in the car!

Moore: Sir, I'm going to advise against that. A squad car and an ambulance are on the way. Please stay calm and remain inside your- (Children's screams can be heard.).

Granley: _Holy shit_! Oh, my God, the roof just exploded. Some kinda…some kinda green ball o' fire just flew out. Looks like it's headin' uptown. Holy _shit_, what the _hell_ was that? Wow, I never…. Damn, the rest of the house is catching, startin' to burn.

Moore: (A pause.) The Fire Department has been alerted and a truck is en route.

Granley: Well, that's fine and friggin' dandy, Miss, but unless they get here soon, ours is gonna light up, too. We're gettin' outta here.

Moore: Sir, pl- (Sound of dial tone.).


	2. Sins of the Father

Descent Into Damnation

All DarkStalkers references are copyright Capcom, Inc. Any instances of author-created characters bearing names or likenesses to real people are purely coincidental. Celebrities, your names are used without permission. Deal with it.

This work is rated Teen for violence, rough language, and sexuality.

Chapter 2: Sins of the Father

**October 31, 1996**

**11:55 p.m. CST**

**Somewhere over St. Charles Avenue**

**New Orleans, LA**

The being that was at one time Troy "Leon" Redmond soared through the night sky at a low altitude of about four hundred feet. Down below, vehicles skidded to a screeching halt as he passed over, and pedestrians stopped in mid-stride to gesticulate wildly and speculate as to what they had in fact just seen. A few lucky tourists even managed to snap off some blurry photos of a greenish blob zooming past like a proverbial bat out of Hell as visions of dollar signs danced in their heads. In reality the grainy pictures would probably end up buried amongst other images of equally-questionable credibility in publications relegated to the check-out aisles of supermarkets and the homepages of conspiracy theory buffs and alien abductees. Had Redmond been in full control of his mental faculties, he might have chuckled at all the commotion he was causing. However, the strain of the transformation he had undergone only minutes before had proven too much for his psyche; his regular personality had been tossed in the backseat and replaced by something a bit more…primal. It wanted—no, it _needed_ a fight. The seed of Darkness that Lord Kreutz had implanted in Redmond's body was tinged with the family's history as a warrior clan and compelled him relentlessly to seek out worthy opponents and tear them apart...or die trying.

Just as he was approaching the broad median of Canal Street, the newly-inducted DarkStalker altered his course. "It" had picked up two powerful energy signatures to the west of his current position, and like a moth to a flame he was drawn inexorably to their location.

* * *

Jonathan Talbain (garbed in the orange robes of a Xiaolin monk) politely nodded and gently smiled at the punch line that the socialite sitting next to him, a one Dr. Jordan King (a fleshy, balding Caucasian in a Julius Caesar get-up), had poorly delivered over the jazzy music emitting from the amplifiers. The frighteningly-thin woman in the chair next to the doctor (who he assumed was the man's wife due to the fact that she was also in a toga), heavily made-up and looking as though she had fallen face-first on a pile of Botox injectors, let loose with a hearty, drunken guffaw that almost made Jon cringe. He took a large swig of his double scotch, wondering how he had let Felicia sucker him into attending this nightmare.

_Christ, I'll need about ten more of these if I'm gonna make it through this affair with my sanity intact_, he thought miserably.

He had been reading the sports section of _The Telegraph_ three months ago from the comfort of Felicia D'artemante's lavishly-furnished apartment in Central London when she suddenly waltzed into the den with a letter in hand. He recalled that he had been wearing loose-fitting khakis and a white tank top and that he was resting contentedly in his favorite easy chair. With nary a warning she crawled up on top of him starting from the foot of the recliner, sliding her toned physique under the newspaper and pressing herself sensually to his body. A mischievous grin danced on her face as she gave his lips a playful peck. She hadn't made a public appearance in a few days, so her fur had reached its regular length, allowing her the freedom to roam about the domicile without a single article of clothing. Far be it from him to raise a fuss over something as trifling as modesty.

"Oh, geez," Jon sighed, rolling his eyes. "I know that look."

"What look?" the beautiful catwoman asked innocently.

"The one that tells me I'm going to let out a king-sized groan once I see what's written there, luv," he replied, giving her the slightest tap on the nose with his left index finger.

"Well, we'll see about that," she said, handing the piece of paper to him.

"Dearest Lady Felicia," he began aloud. "'Where y'at, gal?!' That time at Brennan's…geez, it still cracks me up. I don't know what my wife was thinking. Anyway, I was reminiscing about old times while listening to your self-titled album from '94 and even now it floored me just like the first time I ever played it through. Well, it just so happens me and the boys are providing the entertainment for the Shaw Group's Charity Halloween Ball. They're holding it at the Ritz-Carlton in New Orleans, really swanky place. I don't know how crazy your schedule is right now, but I'd be honored if you'd be able to fly down here and join me for a few duets in between rubbing elbows with the local bigwigs. Oh, yeah, and if you decide to come, make sure you drag Jon's cranky self along, too. That cat needs to lighten up, and N.O. is one of the best places to do just that. Don't worry about tickets or accommodations; airfare will come out of Shaw's famously-deep pockets, and I can see to it that the manager books y'all for the Presidential Suite free of charge for a week. Hope to hear from you soon, H.C."

Jon was inhaling deeply to make good on his word when the sound of tearing fabric reached his ears. The DarkStalker looked down to see his girl using one of her finely-honed claws to rip open his shirt and expose his muscular chest. Her pupils waned until they were vertical black slits, almost lost amidst her brilliantly-blue irises: she had entered a decidedly predatory state of mind. But she wasn't out for food.

* * *

He smirked as he recalled the passionate scene that had ensued moments later, and he turned to catch the arm of a young African-American lady walking by with a platter of drinks. "Excuse me, ma'am. Could I get a gin and tonic on the rocks, please?"

She was taken aback, startled at his accent, his abnormally-large canines, his flowing mane of white hair, and his yellow-hued eyes. The thought that someone who wasn't human was addressing her crossed her mind. But it was only momentary. "Certainly," the server said.

He directed his attention to the windowed wall of the hotel's Grand Ballroom where a temporary stage had been erected. Felicia, wearing a cute blue and white dress that was clearly an homage to Disney's take on a certain Lewis Carroll character, and Harry, sporting a convincing _Phantom of the Opera_ look, sallied back and forth as the band cruised through the Fred Astaire classic "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off." The DarkStalker admitted that the Connick kid had a really good set of pipes, but Felicia's voice was just so smooth, so _alive_, so—.

_Hold on just a bloody minute…this bore of a fete might actually get interesting._

Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed two security guards making their way to the main entrance of the ballroom, both with weapons drawn and walkie-talkies pressed to their ears. Just as the one closest to the point of entry was reaching for the handle, the doors seemed to explode outwards from a tremendous force applied on the other side. The enforcers landed several feet away in a disorganized heap, one out cold, the other moaning in pain and clutching his right leg. Virtually everyone in the room directed their attention to the sudden act of violence. Worried murmurs (and horrified cries from the folks unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of the perpetrator) began to fill the hall as the musicians abandoned their work in mid-song to get a better view of what was transpiring. The party-goers nearest the entrance shrank back in fear as one responsible for the chaos strode forward.

"Jesus, it's a _monster_!" yelled a middle-aged man in a fat-suit and a heavily-stained shirt with the name "Michael Moore" scribbled across the front in black Sharpie.

At first glance, this appeared totally feasible. He looked like a genuine werewolf. Black and platinum-white fur (under which lean muscle rippled with every movement he made) covered his entire form, which couldn't have been more than six feet in height. His pupil-less eyes burned a shade of fiery crimson, and his lips were pulled back in a sneer, revealing a set of intimidating fangs just waiting for its first kill. The only garments on his body were a pair of well-worn navy cargo pants held up by a brown belt with a heavy silver buckle and black rock-climbing gloves.

"Ah, bugger," Jon muttered, scarcely audible to those around him.

Before the newcomer got very far, a large figure lumbered over to confront the individual who had so rudely interrupted his merriment.

_Oh, wonderful. This evening just wouldn't be complete without some drunken ape on a 'roid rage doing his little song and dance. I've got to get over there before that bloody idiot gets himself killed._

"Bullllshit, jus' some asshole inna custoom," a thoroughly inebriated Fred Flintstone slurred as he made his way unsteadily to the new arrival.

"Fred" looked to be around six and a half feet tall and devout gym-a-holic. He roughly took hold of the custoomed asshole by the neck and ranted about how he was "going to kick (his) furry keister sooooo hard that (he'll) be whistlin' through (his) hem'rrhoids." "Fred" even got a few cheers from the audience up until the cartoon caveman's quarry seized one of his meaty wrists in one hand.

"Warning:" _crack_ "side effects of alcohol include decreased inhibitions," _crunch_ "impaired judgment," _snap_ "and delayed reaction time," the beast growled wryly as he mangled the man's limb.

"Fred" seemed to marvel at the Dark One's handiwork for a second before collapsing into the fetal position and braying loudly for his mother.

"Any other hero-types wanna step up? Alfred here looks like he could use some company," the half-demon snarled.

The only sound was a piteous moan from the tangerine leopard-print lump on the ground.

"Well, _fuckin'_ A. That'll make my life easier and just may prolong your own." He rolled his neck and popped his knuckles. "Okay, we're gonna play a fun little game now. I assume you've all heard of 'Big Bad Wolf Says.' No? 'Kay, the rules are quite simple. You do what I tell you, or you get to spend your last moments in this world watching me devour your intestines. All right, let's begin. Big Bad Wolf says, 'Bar all the exits with whatever you can find.'"

Twenty or so guests scrambled to oblige his request, pushing tables and chairs into place. Their captor meanwhile whistled through his teeth the theme song for an all-too-familiar Hanna-Barbera program. When they were finished he clapped slowly.

"Very good, children. Now, Big Bad Wolf says, 'Sit your asses down and—_whuf_!'"

The angry youth was taken down in mid-sentence from behind by a silver-haired gentleman in an Oriental outfit. As soon as they hit solid ground, the defiant hostage knelt on the fiend's neck and latched on to his right arm, twisting it and pulling it out of the socket.

"Everyone, get out of here _now_!" Jon bellowed over the string of obscenities issuing from the detained Dark One.

The guests all bolted for the nearest means of escape, flinging the obstructions that had been placed only moments ago every which way. Several who weren't frightened completely out of their wits stayed a bit longer to help carry out the wounded, but not so much as one even offered a word of thanks to their savior.

"_Ungh_! Pretty strong for an old fart," the downed DarkStalker grunted.

"Sod off, ya cheeky little tosser," Jon hissed, giving his foe's dislocated shoulder another wrench.

"_Aaaaaagh, _shit!"

Redmond's struggles lessened noticeably after that fresh jolt to his pain receptors.

"Jon!" Felicia called out as she and Harry ran over.

The red-eyed halfling could sense her power as she approached.

_Not as significant as the son of a bitch on my back, but I guess it beats nothing_, Troy thought.

"Both of you go on ahead. I'll hold him down until the police arrive."

Harry's nerves weren't holding up very well. "H-hey, I, uh, I uh." He babbled, swallowing anxiously and rubbing the back of his head. "I…got a gun back at the house," he stammered. "I could, ah, help or somethin'."

"_Harry_." Felicia held him by his shoulders and stared straight into his eyes; the strain in her voice brought him back to reality.

The jazz singer blinked a few times, clearing his thoughts. "Right, let the police handle it." Both he and the catwoman turned to leave and began jogging to the exit. "Hey, Jon, don't do anything stupid, man! We'll be waiting for you outside, all right?"

The son of Baraba Kreutz nodded an affirmation.

"So, how does floor polish taste?" Jon queried after his comrades were out of hearing range.

"_Mmfff_, screw you!"

_Snikt!_

Jon's eyes bulged at the sudden onset of dizzying agony in his chest. His gaze lazily wandered downward to find five rapidly-expanding blotches staining his robes, all concentrated around his right lung. While he had been employing the joint-lock, Redmond's wrist had been trapped between Jon's bicep and the side of his torso, leaving the youth's hand resting palm-down on Talbain's back. Fully extended, the young werewolf's claws measured at least eight inches in length, creating both entry and exit wounds. Just as Jon's vision began to grow fuzzy, Troy retracted his talons, the pain causing the older warrior to black out temporarily. When Jon came to moments later, he was lying on his back in a pool of his own blood, and Redmond was bracing his arm to pop it back into place.

_What are you gonna do, Jon? If you stay in this form, you'll drown in your own vital fluids. But if you expose yourself here, you could ruin everything that the girl of your dreams has ever worked for. _He cursed silently. _Stupid git! Who do you think he'll go after next?_

Faced with no other alternative, Talbain summoned his Dark legacy. When his metamorphosis was complete, he stood up and pulled off the tattered remains of the top half of his kung fu outfit, fully ready to rip into the lad for all he was worth.

"What the hell? _Kreutz_?" Troy was completely flabbergasted, his palms resting against his temples. _No, this guy's too short._ The memory of the Wolf Lord was enough of a stimulus to bring his real self back to the forefront of his consciousness. "Wha…? Where am I?" He wondered aloud as he examined his surroundings, his view finally resting on his reflection in one of the large glass windows. "Oh, no, _no_, NO!" He fell to his knees in despair as the events of the past few weeks assaulted his mind.

Talbain was completely confused by his opponent's sudden outburst. "How do you know that name?"

"The one who did this to me, turned me into a freak; everyone referred to him as Lord Kreutz. You're his spitting image, so I thought you were him." He answered sullenly. The youth's eyes suddenly grew wide and scared. "The last thing I remember was looking out at the moon at my house. I didn't…_kill _anyone, did I?"

"You put three people in the hospital since you showed up and gave me a near-lethal wound," the elder DarkStalker answered matter-of-factly with a degree of annoyance in his voice. But the hardness in his tone dissolved when he remembered by whose hand the youth had ended up in such a state. "I don't know what kind of hell you raised between your place and here, but I'm sure the morning news will be happy to refresh your spotty memory."

The implications of Jon's words smacked Redmond like a brick to the face, leaving him in stunned silence.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Troy. Troy Redmond," was the hesitant reply. "Usually go by Leon, though."

"Jon Talbain." The golden-eyed werewolf introduced himself, extending one hand to shake. "A pleasure, actually."

"Wha—? You can't be serious." Troy cautiously returned the gesture. "Didn't you just tell me that I tried to kill you?"

"Well, yes, yet you also indirectly saved me from sitting through the rest of an oppressively mind-numbing social. But all kidding aside, Leon, I'll have to ask you to pardon my somewhat hasty judgment when I say that your alter-ego struck me as a rather sloppy fellow," he assessed. "I'd give it two or three days at the most before the local authorities piece together who you really are."

"What…what should I do?" His question came out sounding hollow and hopeless.

"Have you tried reverting back to your human form?"

Leon gritted his teeth, deep in concentration. He gave an exasperated sigh after a attempting for a minute straight and slammed his fists into the wood floor with a strangled cry.

"Don't worry about that now. Your emotions are getting in the way, I imagine. Daylight will take care of that eventually." Jon paused briefly to gather his thoughts. He really didn't owe Leon anything, but a persistent sense of guilt kept dogging him. "I'd advise you to lay low as best as you can. You have any friends around here that won't phone you in to the fuzz?"

"Yeah," was the unenthusiastic reply.

"Then you need to ditch the police and make your way their place without being seen. And don't stay at the same place for more than one night. Savvy?"

"Right." Leon got to his feet.

"Listen, eh, Leon," Jon began uneasily. "I'll come find you in a week or so. I can introduce you to some people who can help you get a new identity. I can't say it'll be cheap or vouch for their ethics, but it beats spending a lifetime constantly on the run and fighting for your survival."

Troy's expression brightened visibly. "Thanks." He didn't dare ask why Talbain was willing to help him or why the werewolf so strongly resembled Lord Kreutz. The past twenty-four hours had been too insane and as a result had made pushing his luck one of the last things on his to-do list. "I guess I'll see you around, then."

Jon's keen hearing picked up the heavy trample of a squadron of police officers closing in on their position. "And not a moment too soon. We're about to have company. Take off through one of those windows. I'll make up some nonsense about you overpowering me. Don't worry about the drop; just let your instincts take over. Trust me on this one."

Leon did as he was bade, the thought of confrontation almost immediately boosting his adrenaline levels. _Come on, Leon. Fight or flight!_ He dropping to all fours and began sprinting to the clear glass. _Fight or flight! _The muscle pairs in his legs contracted and relaxed in unison, propelling him through the air. Just before he impacted with the windowpane, he raised his arms to protect his face.

_Ka-lissshhhh!_

_Fight or…flight?_

Leon was pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn't losing any horizontal momentum. In fact, he seemed to be gaining it. Also worthy of notice was his apparent disregard for the laws of gravity and a strange green aura that surrounded his entire body. His amazement at his newfound powers was cut short, though, by a lucky shot from Lieutenant Charlie Waguespack's H&K USP to the DarkStalker's left thigh.

_Shit! Need to get out of range!_

He changed course sharply, ascending high into the atmosphere until the Crescent City was just a swarm of tiny lights. When he was sure he was safe, he probed the hole in his pants to see how badly he was hurt, only to find that the injury had already healed.

_That's…interesting._

He did a slow three hundred and sixty degree turn, scanning the horizon and racking his brain for ideas. The werewolf finally decided to head towards the tiny city of Laplace and wait for dawn at the top of the water tower by the onramp for the Lake Pontchartrain Bridge. From there he could hitch a ride to Kenner and walk to his friend Bram Faulkner's place. He'd known Bram since grade school. The only problem was that his buddy's girlfriend hated his guts.

_God, I hope this works out…._


End file.
